


lukewarm

by lovesongs



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 19:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15226083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesongs/pseuds/lovesongs
Summary: loving you's like holding smoke





	lukewarm

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by tender's smoke and erode, my heartbreak and people who had the misfortune to fall in love with those who don't and probably won't love them back.  
> i'm rooting for you, guys, don't give up and enjoy!

* * *

It became a habit to get together at one and the same diner, located in Yangcheong, once in three or so years to hit the bottle and blather on all they could trump up, for all that eluding their adolescence at any cost, not really being bent on broaching a subject that made them lock horns and row about it as a general rule so they didn't possess any other choice, but to steer clear of prattling on their youth spent in Arcadia. It was a subject they didn't bring up at any time.  
  
They fell silent during strained gaps when they didn't have anything more to tag on to string out their discussion, and their lips stretched into reluctant simpers as thin as a paper and as forged as their adulthood. It all resembled a pageantry: they slipped into their spick and span clothing in the mornings, disputed about adult issues that didn't cut any ice in the main and then parted company for another spun-out three years, thus forming a large chasm in their on and off relationship. It mirrored a moth-eaten and threadbare cloth, and it was as frail as chinaware.  
  
After their so quiet you could hear a pin drop dinners they, blasted and ebullient, lurched to a hotel at hand and made love until dayspring. Then they split up and continued their routine. On the odd occasion they lolled and did nothing at all in their hotel room till afternoon. They didn't kiss or cuddle. It was a precept. They could take a drop, discuss politics that didn't light their fire, hit out at modern music and listen to Nina Simone and John Coltrane or if they were soaked enough they could switch on Alice in Chains or The Clash or Red Hot Chili Peppers and cut a rug. They had fun yet once it was all settled as they pulled their clothes on in silence and their elation culminated and dispersed and a day set about Mark could detect melancholy shrouding them. He could sense it in his throat as it contracted for a split second, in his ribcage and mind. It was in his body as if it were a clot of cancerous cells spreading out and hence hastening his demise.  
  
Mark didn't feel much during their nights while they were getting their oats and rolling around and cackling as clods and sipping at coffee at three in the morning and tattling about nothing after the deed was done, but when he returned to his mundane life, containing pressing surgeries or hearing his patients out, getting roaring drunk with his colleagues and then stumbling home at night, reflecting on his life and smoking a cigarette at first light that usually induced fatigue running on daylong. Sometimes he couldn't stop thinking about each night they'd shared, recalling Jaebum's salty skin and protruding muscles on his stomach, his hot tongue in his rear, his rugged arms and rough hands placing his legs on his shoulders to push a little deeper, his sharp masculine scent. Once in a while Jaebum allowed him to nose at his thick neck and collarbones and taste his sweat. Mark couldn't get it out of his head for months on end. He imagined his fingers and his mouth; those visions aroused him and filled him with hunger, lust and longing for nights to last a bit longer.  
  
However, Jaebum was married and had a daughter.

Their liaison couldn't transmute into anything more stable and coherent; it wouldn't bear fruit at any rate, and Mark apprehended it all. He was neither a child nor a teenager to demand a thing that Jaebum couldn't grant him. Their boisterous youth stored a recollection that Jaebum wanted to eradicate, but Mark didn't. During that summer a decade or so ago they were dating or so Mark'd assumed until Jaebum declared that all they had shared as a couple had been nothing, but a fling, a fiddle-faddle and stated that he had a girlfriend. At that second Mark heard his heart crack and splinter as a chandelier or a mirror.

They weren't friends or lovers.  
  
They were.  
  
Mark was in his kitchen. He lit up a cigarette as he poured coffee in his cup and peered at the road at daybreak, still desolate and silent.  
  
They were strangers who met once in three years for a one-night-stand that ended once the sun was up and people began filling the streets.

His feelings didn't make any difference.

It was as simple as that.


End file.
